His & Hers: Breakfast

On the left, we have hashbrowns, sausage and fried farm eggs.
On the right, we have cantaloupe, cucumber, sunflower and flax seeds.
Guess whose is whose?

I'm pretty sure men have evolved to only feel satisfied when eating something they could have killed on a hunt and women are satisfied most eating things they could have grown or gathered. At least, that's the way it seems in our house.

This was my first foray into raw food. Day 3 now. No day has been completely raw, but let's just say my birthday present to myself was a dehydrator. Last night it made me kale chips and dried cantaloupe. Right now it is making me banana chips and pancakes.  

In the spotlight

Jack was asked to perform a poem to introduce a TEDx Jackson Hole session. He wanted to do the newest in his repertoire (milk out yo ur nose funny) but it was too long for the time-sensitive event. Instead, he did "Larry the Banker" (merely humorous) which came in under a minute.
"Most people get 15 minutes of fame. I got 50 seconds."

Honey Do's

I have a talented husband. He could have been an engineer. He can see anything and figure out how to build it. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. His 93-year-old mother wishes she could come to Wyoming and help him rebuild this house. As she has done to many other homes before. By herself.

The problem is that when you have a talented husband such as mine it is easy to pile on the honey do's. A farmhouse table? No problem. Light fixtures? Yep. A custom bureau/closet? Sounds great. Homemade butcher block counters? Definitely.

You see where I am going with this. Where do I stop? How can any one man get all of this done?

Interior design

What a fun toy! I discovered Homestyler this weekend and am having a great time playing with it. It will even do 3D! It doesn't have everything (the lineup of chairs will be a long banquette, the two woodstoves will be one large wood cookstove facing the hallway), and thought Jack would love it, I doubt we will have this many large pieces of leather furniture. Even so, what fun. On to the yard next!

You can see better version here, or try your own free: http://www.homestyler.com/designer

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Joel Salatin enjoying Jack's poetry.

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Jack telling Joel Salatin he can't. produce grassfed beef as well as Wyoming producers do.

Simon the Zealot

Jack got zealous for Easter this year. Well, for Maundy Thursday. He was picked to play Simon the Zealot in our church's production of the Living Last Supper. It was his first play and he had a big monologue to memorize and even more difficult, he had to wear shorts!

And sandals!

But thankfully, not this. This was reserved for Jesus. Which is why Jesus is invisible in all my pictures. Jesus as Cousin It doesn't photograph well. Or maybe his disappearance from the pictures is more of a spiritual metaphor. Oooh. Deep.

Jack had to grow a beard for the role, but it just couldn't keep up with the 'stache. And he is zealous about that mustache. (Note the atrocious wig on our friend Gene. Why? Why?)

The tableau. Jack is seated at right. Roger, playing Peter, looks like a Greek statue. So regal.

The cast in the afterglow of their success.

The flip side

What a difference a year makes! We generally know we are always evolving but when you stop and look back in diaries, journals, calendars or, say, blogs, you are transported with complete clarity. This post from a year ago brought me back into the skin of Cory, ca. 2011.

I was madly reading modern homesteading memoirs (left the big city behind for the more authentic pace of farm life) and planting a monster garden. I loved Dominique Browning's story of leaving New York City for Rhode Island and Eric Brende's tale of doctoral research turned life change among the sort-of Amish. I read at least a dozen. Yet, there we were, surrounded by nothing by fields and animals. We lived the farm life, well, ranch life.

A year later we've made the opposite move from everyone in those books. From farm to town. We are surrounded by neighbors. Our dogs are fenced in and shushed. We try to remember to draw the curtains at night. The oxen and chickens have new homes.

And yet, we love it. We love being so close to town and feeling a part of the community. We can bounce home for dinner and back out for events, take evening classes, join activities. We have shifted from being apart to being a part.

Quite a change.

Reading that old blog post had me rolling around in the memories and reflecting on these changes until the very end, when I read the last line: "Green Acres is the life for me?"

I laughed out loud. God is funny. The name of our little subdivision here in suburbia? Green Acres.

Seriously.

Further proof that this was meant to be our home. 

Back on track

Phew! What a few months it has been! We have been without access to the Internet at home, so I've not been able to post. I'm sure more details will come, but in a nutshell we moved - and then moved again.
The ranch where Jack worked (and we lived) split up last fall and we had to move quite quickly. We found a place to take our menagerie  half an hour north of town where neither Internet or cellular service dared to roam and stayed there for six months. While there, we sold the oxen, moved Joker to a retirement home, gave away the chickens and sent Skip to live with relatives. A few weeks ago we closed on a house here in suburbia, a.k.a. the land of the roving children on 4-wheelers and the 8 minute commute. All we have left are the three cats, Mater and Sluggo. Our new home is a renovation project. Perhaps I should rewrite our bio for this blog. We no longer live on a cattle ranch, but now we're marriage under construction country folk trying to make it in town. Oy!

Let the adventures begin!

His name is my name, too

Jack is really John.
For generations - since Adam and Eve, he says - the first male Schmidt has always been (and must always be) named John.
Jack's youngest son, Jacob, will become a father tomorrow. And, as he will be the first boy Schmidt of this generation, he will be a John.
It is common for the new John to be given his father's name as his middle name, but wait - that would make him - John Jacob Schmidt. Hear the Jingleheimer in there? It's implied.

Update: Jacob Alexander was born Oct. 11. He may not be a John, but he's a healthy happy grandson!

Scenes from our harvest dinner